


Upwelling

by boneboysbicth



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Blood, Explicit Language, F/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Rating May Change, Reader-Insert, Skelebros being bros, Slow Burn, Soulmates, Tags May Change, Warnings May Change, slowest burn of your life
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-19
Updated: 2019-10-17
Packaged: 2019-10-31 15:18:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 16,859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17852060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/boneboysbicth/pseuds/boneboysbicth
Summary: Your job at Mountainside Market just got a little more interesting. But will these new-found friends destroy your life, or leave it better than they found it? Only time will tell.Get ready for some slow-burning shenanigans.I have big plans for this story. Let's see if I actually follow them.First Undertale/reader insert fic. Let me know what you think!





	1. First Impressions

Your day started just like any other. You got up around seven thirty, pulled on your work clothes, fed your cat and sleepily drove yourself to work. The cool breeze of AC hit you as you walked through the door, and you shrugged your cardigan a little closer. Your coworkers for the day, Tomara and Jackson, threw you a sympathetic glance as you clocked in and started your eight-hour day. They understood your pain all-too-well. 

Your name is _____. You’ve been working full-time at Mountainside Market for almost two years, ever since you graduated college with a degree in journalism. Times were tough, but you were doing everything you could to make your dreams of becoming a freelance writer takeoff. That meant taking the first job you could get to try and get some extra cash under your belt.

But now, seven hours and fifty-two minutes later (yes, you were counting), your spot behind the cash register felt cursed. You always find yourself asking if this job is even worth it in the last few minutes of your shifts, heh. You let out a small hiss of pain as you shift from one foot to the other; the eight minutes left on the clock felt like an eternity.

The sudden clunking sound of a pasta jar on your conveyor belt pulls you out of your thoughts. You instantly slap on your best customer service smile and get to work. 

“Hi, did you find everything okay?” you ask out of habit. Your eyes move from the jar of pasta sauce to the customer buying it. Their red-gloved hand was moving between the basket and belt with remarkable efficiency… you couldn’t help but think about how good they’d be at bagging groceries. 

You chided yourself internally-- now was not the time. Your eyes drift up from the hand to the arm and up, and up, and up (my god, they were tall), until you’re finally met with a pair of eyes. 

Or, well, sockets...? They didn’t really have eyes. They had a place where eyes would be, but no irises or pupils. Nothing. Just… darkness. 

You felt your brain short out as your peripheral vision started to piece together the full picture. The angular face, the off-white tone of… god, what were those? Bones? Those were bones, weren’t they. The visible teeth and missing nose. That is a skull. You’re looking at a skull, and those are bones. 

You’re talking to a skeleton. A _fucking _skeleton.__

____

____

Your heart stops. 

Monsters have been above ground for around four years. After emerging from what they called The Underground with a child leading the fray, they’ve been slowly but surely working through the legal process of obtaining rights— not that they’ve faced massive opposition. The initial fear of monsters was quickly put to rest as the practical applications of magic became clear: healing, building, and defense, among other things. Not to mention monster food, people went crazy for that stuff. Your store could hardly keep it on the shelves now, you could only imagine what it was like when it first reached the public. Nothing like an economy boost to grant someone fundamental rights, huh? It’s also not like your store had any shortage of monster patrons in its location just southeast of Mount Ebott. 

But now, as this monster stands before you, you stutter. Why? 

In all of the three seconds you spend in a panic, you only catch the tail end of what the talking skeleton is actually saying. His voice has a tenor-like quality to it, almost nasal despite not having a… well, y’know. 

“-UT FEAR NOT, MISS HUMAN! THE GREAT PAPYRUS HAS TAKEN THE LIBERTY TO RE-ORGANIZE YOUR SHELVES SO THAT THEY MAY MORE APPROPRIATELY SERVE NUTRITIONAL NEEDS.” 

They… what? Whatever. You’d deal with that later. Right now you need to get a move on. Eight minutes left on the clock, and you weren’t planning on staying any longer than you had to. You start scanning what must be 10 jars of pasta sauce, followed by noodles, craft glitter, ketchup and a pack of alphabet fridge magnets. Odd, to say the least, but you’ve still seen weirder. 

“Um, thank you,” you say, swallowing hard. C’mon, kid, you should be used to this by now. You’ve met plenty of monsters. What’s so different about this guy, huh? The thought grounds you, and you try to spark up a casual conversation. “I’m sorry, I must have missed it. What did you say your name was?” 

“WHY, MISS HUMAN, THAT IS QUITE ALRIGHT! EVEN THE MIGHTIEST OF ADVERSARIES CANNOT ALWAYS FATHOM SUCH AN AWESOME NAME ON FIRST PASS,” he says, an arm coming up to rest heroically across his chest. You spot what looks like a cape flowing behind them. “I AM THE GREAT PAPYRUS!” 

The pride in their voice only escalates alongside his motions. You smile, hands working mindlessly to bag their groceries. His groceries? Did monsters have genders? You weren’t sure. 

“Well, it’s very nice to meet you,” you say politely. “I’m _____. But, Miss Human is fine, too.” 

Their pose softens as he leans down to grab a few of the bags and set them back in the cart. You briefly register something blue, but it’s gone just as soon as it arrived, blocked once again by the Mighty Skeleton’s torso. 

“IT IS A PLEASURE TO MEET YOUR ACQUAINTANCE AS WELL, MISS HUMAN. I BELIEVE IT IS ONLY POLITE FOR YOU TO MEET MY LAZYBONES BROTHER S—” he says, turning to look behind him. “SANS? WHERE HAVE YOU GONE OFF TO? I ALREADY TOLD YOU WE HAVE ENOUGH--”

Brother? So, they do have genders? 

“i’m right here, bro,” a deeper voice suddenly says from beside you. 

You startle, the bottle of ketchup in your hand almost slipping to the counter. Still recovering from shock, you turn to the mystery voice only to be met with… another... skeleton. But this time he wasn’t nearly as tall, maybe about your height. He has irises that look like small blue pools of light in his eye sockets. If Papyrus was more akin to a realistic human skeleton, his brother was somewhat cartoon-ish, softer in a way. His broader, rounded skull gave way to a seemingly ever-present grin and eye sockets that almost looked half-lidded. The jacket covering his white t-shirt was blue, and looked well-worn in the best way possible. Well, besides the stains on sleeves. 

You quickly laugh off your mistake, and shoot a friendly smile his way. 

“It’s nice to meet you,” you say, trailing off slightly as you try to recall Papyrus’ words. “Uh, Sans, right?” 

“in the flesh,” he says, his grin seeming to grow a little wider. 

You flush, letting out an awkward laugh as you register his joke. He must have noticed your slip up earlier. 

His mouth opened when he spoke, but it wasn’t nearly as dramatic as his brother. While Papyrus could only open and close his jaw to speak, it seemed Sans had far more flexibility in the way he talked, making it almost… human-like? Natural? 

Was that speciesist? That was probably speciesist. 

Papyrus reaches over to fetch the last grocery bag from the rack, rattling off (heh. bones.) scolding words as you read him his total and he approaches the card scanner. 

“SANS! DO NOT SULLY THE EARS OF MISS HUMAN WITH YOUR AWFUL HUMOR,” he says, huffing indignantly as his fingers mash buttons on the keypad. “YOU ARE MAKING A HORRIBLE FIRST IMPRESSION.”

Your eyes switch back and forth between the brothers. Right as you catch his eye, Sans shoots a playful, conspiratorial wink your way, and your breath hitches. Does he want you to play along? With what?

“aw, c’mon paps,” Sans says, a mischievous glint in his eye. “no need to get saucy.” 

__The pun takes a moment to register. Alright, you think you get it. Leaning over to grab their receipt, you choose your words carefully._ _

____

____

“Yeah, I’d hate to see you boil over,” you try to say innocuously. You don’t hide the amusement in your voice very well, though. “That would be... impastable to clean up.” 

___“OH NO, NOT YOU T,--” Papyrus starts to say, but Sans cuts him off, restrained laughter evident._ _ _

_____ _

_____ _

“yeah, heh, that’d be one shell of a job,” he said, a puff of laughter escaping him. “i cannelloni imagine.” 

___“A penne for your thoughts, Papyrus? Your tongue seems bow-tied.”___

___“STOP THIS RIGHT N-“_ _ _

_____ _

_____ _

“nah, i’d say he’s bigoli on gettin’ a word in. don’t strain yourself, bro.” 

___“THIS IS GETTING RIDICUL-“_ _ _

_____ _

_____ _

“We wouldn’t want you to spiralini out of control.” 

__“you’re cavatelli-ng me, he looks like he’s gonna-“__

___Your exchange is interrupted by an exasperated yell from Papyrus, which makes you finally break. It started out soft, but soon a loud, boisterous laugh found itself spilling out of your lips. You try to muffle the sound with your hand unsuccessfully. You don’t notice at first, but a deeper, albeit quieter laugh joins yours. It sounds nice._ _ _

_____ _

_____ _

You brush off the feeling of eyes watching you from the other registers as one hand grips the counter, and the other comes up to wipe away the tears forming at the edges of your eyes. God, these two were a riot. 

“WE WILL BE LEAVING NOW, MISS HUMAN, BUT IT WAS A PLEASURE MEETING YOU,” Papyrus says. You almost miss the last part. “...even if you share the same abhorrent humor as a certain lazy skeleton I know.” 

Sans chimes in as the basket is turning towards the exit.

“you know you love it.” 

“I DO NOT.” 

“but you’re smiling, paps.”

A moment of silence. 

“YES, AND I HATE IT.” 

You chuckle at their antics as they exit the store. They really do make quite the pair. You wave them out, saying goodbye and that you hope they’ll “come back and see us,” before taking a quick look at the clock. 

5:01. You thank whatever gods might be listening as you flick off the light at your register and close the lane. The envious look you get from Tomara makes you laugh as you strut out of the store.

Today was a good day.


	2. Second Impressions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which you encounter Skelebros for the second time.

Most of the next week passes uneventfully. When you aren’t working or writing, you’re sleeping. Wake up, repeat. The beautiful cycle of adulthood. 

Your day at work so far is slow-going at best. A few regulars here and there making their weekly trip, some friendly banter between you and Tomara. She was your best work friend. Beautiful, with olive skin that complimented her brown hair and eyes. Her laid-back demeanor and friendly smile was magnetic, and she always knew just what to say. You, on the other hand, are like a clock that’s constantly being wound up, with every misspoken word or awkward sentence coiling your insides just a little more. It wasn’t debilitating, but after a while it took a toll— aaaaand, you’re doing it again, going off on a tangent. You sigh, pushing the thoughts aside. You can deal with your cripplingly low self-esteem later. 

The older woman approaching your register offers a kind smile. 

“Hi, Esther!” you say. The motherly crinkle of her eyes brings you a sense of warmth. You start scanning the few items she puts on the conveyor belt. “How are you doing today?” 

“Oh, well, I’m doing just fine, dear,” she says, fishing out her wallet. “Just picking up a few odds and ends for the house. You know Ol’ Greg, couldn’t be bothered. How are you? How’s work treating you?”

Your conversation continues like this for much longer than needed, but you don’t mind. Esther has a heart of gold, and she’d give it to you if she could. She talks about her husband Gregory (or as she so lovingly calls him, Ol’ Greg) almost every time she sees you, but you’ve yet to meet him in person in the two years you’ve been working here. The way she talks about him reminds you of your mom and dad, though— through the good and bad, they stick it out, and still love each other the same as the day they got married. It’s real and genuine, durable and unconditional. It gives you hope that maybe you can have something like that with someone one day. 

...

Bleh. You almost gag at your own cliche thoughts, drowning the hopeless romantic inside you so that it may never see the light of day. Like hell you’d ever let that kind of thing slip, much less anyone you know. You’d never live it down. 

Wishing Esther a good afternoon, you’re back to waiting it out until the end of your shift. That is, until you catch sight of a certain lanky skeleton and his brother entering the automatic doors. What were their names again? Sand and Papirate? No, that wasn’t right… monster names have always been kind of weird to you. Papilot? Bands? Close, but no cigar. It’s on the tip of your tongue. You remember it made you think of Microsoft Word. 

Aha! Sans and Papyrus! Finally. 

From this angle, the height difference between the two is all-the-more prevalent. Papyrus, at his staggering height, almost has to duck through the sliding doors, while his shorter counterpart barely reaches his chest. Their odd choice of clothing sticks out, as well— Papyrus with a large red scarf draping over his shirt that just covers his ribs and a pair of blue… underwear? bottoms? to match. A bulky pair of red gloves and boots accompanies his scarf. Sans, on the other hand, has on a more casual but no less unusual getup with a blue hoodie, black basketball shorts and what looked like… pink house shoes. Do they have bunny ears?? You can’t tell. 

You can’t pinpoint what exactly causes your mild uneasiness at the sight of them; perhaps it’s the thought that you were seeing something outside of your body that should certainly stay in it. Maybe it’s the memory of your rudeness during your first meeting. Or maybe it’s because you haven’t been able to get the laugh of a certain skeleton out of your head. Nonetheless, you feel an anticipatory anxiety well up inside you. Just last night you were thinking about your previous conversation with the two skeletons and laughing it up, but now you stand here with a coil of social ineptitude wrapped tightly around your lungs, wringing them for air. God, brains are weird. 

You watch in silent amusement as they traverse the isles of the store, the conversation bouncing between them. Papyrus is loud, but you still can’t really understand what he’s saying from so far away. You don’t really need to though, as his exaggerated gestures say more than enough. You lose sight of the two as they head further into the building. Thinking back, you hope Papyrus doesn’t try to reorganize the store again. The many boxes and bags of pasta he littered among the shelves were funny at first, but then they just kept coming. You didn’t know your store even carried that much pasta, and the towers of precariously stacked pasta sauce jars were a nightmare to get down the next day. Either way, you hope it doesn’t happen again… even though it was pretty funny. And inconvenient….!..... but mostly funny. 

In what seemed like no time at all, the two are approaching your line once more, plopping down what appears to be a similar assortment of items as their last visit. 

“HELLO AGAIN, MISS HUMAN! I, THE GREAT PAPYRUS, AND MY LESS-SO-BUT-STILL-GREAT BROTHER SANS HAVE RETURNED!” Papyrus announces, striking a dramatic pose before turning to make quick work of the basket again. 

As they stand there, you try to will your uneasiness down. Smiling, you look up to Papyrus and then down to Sans. 

“Hey, you two! How’s it going?” You ask, starting to scan their groceries. 

“‘IT’ IS GOING SPLENDIDLY, MISS HUMAN! HOW HAVE YOU FARED SINCE OUR LAST MEETING? I COULDN'T HELP BUT NOTICE YOUR STORE HAS RETURNED TO ITS STATE OF DISARRAY,” Papyrus inquires, the intonation of his voice shifting with his curiosity. “BUT WORRY NOT! I, THE GREAT PAPYRUS, HAVE TAKEN CARE OF EVERYTHING.” 

Ooooooof course he has. That’s going to be hell tomorrow, but you’ll worry about that later. 

“Oh, thanks, Papyrus!” you say, your unenthusiasm at the idea thinly veiled as excitement. Maybe you could… let him down gently? “But you really don’t have to do that. It’s not like you get paid to work here! I’m sure it must be a hassle.” 

You try your hand at a laugh, but it comes out awkward and flat. Luckily, Papyrus has you covered. 

“NONSENSE, MISS HUMAN! AS A MEMBER OF THE ROYAL GUARD IT IS MY DUTY TO MAINTAIN PEACEFUL RELATIONS, BE IT BETWEEN HUMANS AND MONSTERS OR NOODLES AND RICE.” The second part of his sentence is much quieter. “And quite frankly I believe the latter of the two have some differences they have yet to resolve.” 

You’re confused, but the thought of a war raging between pasta and rice is amusing nonetheless. You hold back a laugh, not at all wanting to come off as if you’re making fun of him. He seems to have the best of intentions, and you can respect that... even if they’re directed toward a fictional battle between pasta and rice. 

“Well, thank you Papyrus. I appreciate your help,” you say, eyes trailing upwards to meet his. It seems he takes pride in the compliment, a slight orange hue rising to his cheekbones. Wait, was… was that a blush? What the hell??

“ALL IN A DAY'S WORK, MISS HUMAN!” he says quickly, picking up several bags from the counter at once. You start scanning the glitter and google-eyes. For being all bones, he’s strong. You guess he drinks his milk. 

Sans was so quiet during your conversation you almost forgot he was there. 

“gotta say paps, you really _outshine_ the-“ 

You startle again, to say the least, a small gasp escaping you.

“heh, didn’t mean to _rattle your bones_ , kid,” he chuckles, throwing an amused and what seems to be apologetic glance your way with his eye? sockets?

It takes a moment to register, but you exhale a breathy laugh. Seems jokes are his thing, aside from scaring the pants off of you. You weren’t the quickest on your feet, but you could try, right? You really hope skeleton jokes aren’t offensive.

Some weird part of you wants to impress him. You try to ignore it. 

“It’s okay, Sans. _Eye_ forgive you,” you say as you hold up a packet of google eyes. “Just sent a _shimmer_ up my spine is all.” You shake the glitter canister for emphasis. The obvious reach in your “joke” kind of makes you cringe as you say it, but it makes Sans laugh anyway.

You feel your heart flutter. 

(wait, what?)

Never mind. You totally didn’t feel that. Not at all. Nope. Not even a little. You’re definitely not blushing. 

(okay maybe a little but shut up) 

Your internal argument almost makes you miss the exasperated sigh Papyrus makes.

“gonna need a little more than that to _tickle his ribs_ ,” Sans says, gesturing to his brother who was fishing a wallet out of… somewhere. You tried not to think about it. “i’m _patella_ -ing ya, he’s one tough nut to crack.” 

You let out a laugh as you try to come up with a comeback, pressing a few buttons on the register. You feel your ninth grade anatomy class failing you. What’s a patella?? You look to Papyrus. The corners of his mandible (?) are quivering up into a smile, but trying desperately not to. 

“ _Thigh_ hate to tell you this, but I think he’s smiling,” you say, giving a sly grin. You cast a look to Sans and meet his eyelights (?). “He’s got to think these jokes are _humerus_.” 

The raise of your eyebrow matches the upward quirk of Sans’ grin, and you both look to Papyrus expectantly. 

You’re met with a loud outburst of frustration, causing you double over in laughter as Sans merely widened his grin, looking fondly over to his brother. You can’t help but find their dynamic cute. 

“aw, c’mon bro, you know we’re only _pullin’ your leg_ ,” he says, trying to slip in one last joke while he can. 

“I FEAR THERE HAS BEEN MORE THAN ENOUGH LEG PULLING TO GO AROUND, BROTHER,” Papyrus starts, swiftly turning to you as you hand him his receipt. “BUT ALAS, WE DO NOT HAVE TIME FOR A PROPER SCOLDING. MY DELICIOUS SPAGHETTI DINNER AWAITS!” 

You pull yourself together and smile at the two as they turn towards the automatic doors. 

“HAVE A GOOD NIGHT, MISS HUMAN! WE SHALL SEE YOU AGAIN SOON! Hopefully by then the infection from Sans’ humor will have cured itself,” Papyrus says, finishing off to himself. 

You just let you a chuckle, and wave the two out the door. 

“You too! Have a good night!” 

A small wave from Sans sends your heart back into a flurry (and you hate yourself for it), but you force your smile to stay up anyway. 

Tomara gives you a knowing look from her register. You play dumb. 

“What, they’re nice!” 

“Mhmm.” 

“They are!” 

“I’m sure shorty is real nice, isn’t he?” She says, a wicked grin forming on her features. You feel your cheeks flush. 

...

“Shut up.”


	3. A Humble Abone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which you are invited to dinner.

Your next few interactions proceed pretty much the same. Every Thursday around 4 p.m., the Skeleton brothers come in, you and Sans crack a few jokes, Papyrus explodes and then they leave. Oh, and then Tomara teases you. That’s super fun. One funny skeleton and suddenly you’re a pile of mush on the floor for Tomara to poke a stick at. Very professional, ______.

Existential embarrassment aside, even thinking of the two brings a smile to your face. Papyrus’ quirky and excitable energy mixed well with the casual and laid-back demeanor of his brother, making every encounter predictably unpredictable. 

Your encounter with them yesterday was no different. Only this time, you feel you may have gotten roped into something you didn’t mean to. 

The two entered the store and did their shopping just like they’d do any other day. You and Papyrus chatted for a while, Sans cracked a few jokes, and soon they were turning to leave. But the frantic shriek of their basket wheels coming to a stop was disorienting, as was the sudden flash of white and red before your eyes. 

“MISS HUMAN!!” Papyrus began, excitement evident. “I CANNOT BELIEVE MY FOOLISHNESS. I MEAN— AHEM— THAT’S IMPOSSIBLE! I SIMPLY MEAN _YOUR_ FOOLISHNESS IN ALLOWING ME TO FORGET SUCH AN IMPORTANT THING! ” 

The confused look on your face could be seen from space.

“I WOULD LIKE TO FORMALLY EXTEND TO YOU A ONCE-IN-A-LIFETIME INVITATION TO JOIN US FOR A DELICIOUS SPAGHETTI DINNER TOMORROW EVENING, FOLLOWED BY A RIVETING SELECTION OF GAMES!” 

What? 

“What?” you half-laugh-half-choke out. 

“WHAT INDEED, MISS HUMAN! I WOULD ENCOURAGE YOU TO ACCEPT! IT IS NOT OFTEN ONE IS SO GRACIOUSLY OFFERED THE OPPORTUNITY TO BASK IN MY GREATNESS,” he continued, raising from his bow to a more heroic stance, hands on his hips. 

In retrospect, it was a completely reasonable request. Come over, have dinner. Play a couple of games. But in the moment your brain wasn’t exactly being reasonable. 

“Well, I, uh…” you started, unsure of where you’re trying to go. You looked to Sans for help. Luckily, you think he got the hint. 

“she’s prolly got plans, paps,” he says, rolling the cart back towards the two of you. “maybe we could try again next week? give ‘er time to _work_ out her schedule.” 

Was that really the joke he went for? 

“That was bad,” you say, chuckling at the sheer lack of effort on his part. 

“YES, MISS HUMAN. VERY BAD. I AM THRILLED TO SEE YOU LEARNING FROM YOUR MISTAKES.” 

Sans shrugs, his grin widening coyly. 

“take it up with my lawyer, she a _bone_ afied life-saver.” 

You laugh genuinely at this one, but Papyrus pipes up in confusion. 

“BROTHER, YOU DO NOT HAVE A LAWYER! DO NOT LIE TO MISS HUMAN WHILE I AM SO EFFORTLESSLY CONVINCING HER TO JOIN US FOR SUPPER.” 

You hear a quiet and amused “my bad” from Sans, but choose to ignore it. You could go to dinner, right? What’s the worst that could happen? 

“I’d love to go Papyrus, I just wasn’t expecting it,” you explain. “I… don’t think I’m doing anything tomorrow night.” 

“SPLENDID!! I KNEW YOU WOULDN’T BE ABLE TO RESIST MY DEVILISHLY GOOD LOOKS AND UNBEATABLE CHARM! WE SHALL SEE YOU THEN,” he says, whipping out a white business card from who knows where and handing it to you. “HERE IS MY NUMBER.” 

On the card is a crude drawing of Papyrus in what looks like red crayon. Beside it, in almost perfect lettering, it says “COOL SKELETON.” You flip it over to see his actual number written in the same lettering as before. Did he get these printed? 

“I don’t think anybody could, Papyrus. I’ll shoot you a text after work,” you say, smiling up at the two. A new customer approaches your line.

“Speaking of, I’m still on the clock, but I’ll see you guys tomorrow! Have a good night!” 

You say your goodbyes and get that cute little wave from Sans again. 

And now, it’s tomorrow. And you’re sitting in your car, parked outside of the address Papyrus sent you. It’s a decent-sized house with a two-car garage, and there’s an expensive-looking red convertible parked right next to you. You feel kind of intimidated. 

Opening the door to your shitty little hatchback, you grab your purse and smooth out the outfit you chose. A cute, oversized sweater with skinny jeans and some white sneakers. Cute enough, but still comfortable. It was almost spring, but still cold enough to need a jacket. You threw on a random one you found lying around the house before heading over. You did the bare minimum as far as makeup goes, mainly to conceal the dark circles under your eyes. Seems like the damned things never go away. Top it off with some chapstick, mascara, and brow powder, and you look mildly presentable. Hopefully.

Your hair is tied back loosely with a color-coordinated scrunchie. Cute, but casual. You tried really hard to make it look like you didn’t spend a lot of time putting this outfit together. In reality, after getting off work around 5, you basically destroyed your whole closet looking for something to wear. It was now 6:57, and you hate being early, even if only by a few minutes. You equally hate being late. So, you lock your car, take your time getting to the door, and knock. A look at your phone reveals it’s 6:59. Close enough. 

An excited shout greets you from the other side, and Papyrus swings the door open so fast you think it will fall off its hinges. After greeting you, you’re ushered into their home and stripped of your coat. Papyrus places it on the coat rack hidden behind the door. 

You take a second to look around. To your right, there’s a table against the wall with a rock covered in sprinkles on top of it. Straight ahead, there’s an arched doorway that leads into what seems to be the dining room, which then branches off into the kitchen. Behind the square, wooden dining table that seems to already be set for dinner is a sliding glass door, revealing a fenced back yard with a shed. Finally, you look to your left and see what you guess is the living room. There’s a couch to the left and far walls, and a TV mounted across the room. A coffee table sits centered between the two, and a pair of pink shoes catch your eye. Ah, there he is. 

Sans is lounging on the couch with his eyes closed, arms propped up behind his skull. His pink slippers are propped up onto the table, and before you know it you’re caught staring. 

“like whatcha see?” he asks cockily, opening one eye. 

You laugh awkwardly as you feel the heat rise to your face. 

“Yeah, your dirty ol’ house shoes are a sight for sore eyes,” you shoot back playfully, earning a chuckle from him. 

~~It makes your heart flutter.~~

Shut up, no it doesn’t. 

~~It totally does.~~

Anyway. 

“hey, lefty and righty don’t take too kindly to that kinda talk,” he says, wiggling his left and right toes accordingly. 

You laugh out an “ew” before Papyrus catches on to what’s going on. 

“SANS! GET YOUR FEET OFF OF THE COFFEE TABLE, THAT IS WHERE WE DRINK COFFEE!” 

“ok.” 

He makes no sign of moving. 

“SANS, I MEAN IT!” 

“ok.”

“SANS!”

Papyrus stomps his foot and you think you might see steam coming from his skull. You look on in quiet amusement. 

“... ok.” 

“UNBELIEVABLE! MISS HUMAN,YOU ARE WELCOME TO JOIN ME IN THE DINING ROOM WHERE WE WILL BE FAR AWAY FROM SANS AND HIS UNSIGHTLY MANNERS.” 

Papyrus turns to walk towards the kitchen, and you turn to meet Sans, his grin impossibly wide. He wiggles his toes once more in your direction and you let go of the laugh you’d been holding back. It’s a wheezy, unbelievably ugly laugh that lasts way too long. At first he joins you with a much quieter laugh, but it gradually grew more and more amused as he watched you _just keep laughing_ , replaying the situation in your head. 

“i guess that one really hit your _funny bone_.”

You break out into an entirely new fit of laughter, but this one is much shorter. Finally, you bring yourself down from the high and quiet your laughs, wiping a tear from your eye. 

“No _bones_ about it,” you say automatically, wondering when the hell your brain thought of that one. 

It’s his turn to laugh as he stands up from the couch and joins you by the archway.

“c’mon, i think dinner’s ready,” he says, flicking his head towards the kitchen. “wouldn’t wanna miss this.” 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you ask quietly as you approach the table, taking a seat at the chair closest to the archway. 

“you’ll see,” he says mysteriously, taking a seat to the right of you. “you’re gonna love it.” 

The relaxed look of anticipation in his eyes kind of makes your stomach squirm. You can’t tell if you like the feeling or not. 

You don’t have time to decide before a loud clanging sound from the kitchen prefaces Papyrus’ arrival, large red pot in hand. You can’t help but notice the apron he’s wearing that says “cool skeleton” on it. He sets the pot on the table next to the napkin holder and returns to the kitchen, swiftly bringing out a single glass of water to set in front of you. It’s not until now that you notice the lonely ketchup bottle near Sans, and the lack of beverage in front of Papyrus. Do skeletons not need to drink when they eat? 

The utensil Papyrus brandishes out of seemingly nowhere readies its position near the spaghetti pot as his other hand grips the lid in preparation. 

“ARE YOU READY, MISS HUMAN?” 

“Yeah!” 

“INCORRECT! NO ONE COULD EVER BE PREPARED FOR THE EXQUISITE DISH I HAVE PREPARED FOR YOU. IT IS SIMPLY! TOO! GOOD!!” 

His voice raises in both volume and excitement with each pause, and in an instant he’s raising the lid in a big sweeping motion to reveal— 

Oh god. 

Oh _no._

_What is that?_

You see what looks like glitter and googly eyes mixed with angel hair noodles and a chunky red sauce. But that’s not all. No, no you’d be lucky if it was. Looking closer you can clearly see alphabet fridge magnets scattered throughout the mixture, and… stickers? 

You try to hide the horror you feel with a tight, close-lipped smile. This is a joke, right? He had to be joking?

The look on Papyrus’ face makes it very clear this isn’t a joke. The look on Sans’ face, however, tells a different story. 

That bastard. He knew, and didn’t tell you. This was definitely a top-10 anime betrayal. 

You swallow the lump in your throat, and turn to look at Papyrus. 

“This looks… really good, Papyrus! Thank you!” 

“WOWIE! A GENUINE COMPLIMENT!! AND FROM OUR NEW FRIEND MISS HUMAN, NONETHELESS! DESPITE THE EFFORTS OF MY GOOD-FOR-NOTHING BROTHER IT SEEMS MY IMPECCABLE HOSTING SKILLS HAVE WON YOU OVER!” 

“hey, i’m good for napping,” Sans says jokingly. 

You just laugh a little too casually at the two, shooting a pointed look for help to Sans. There’s no way you could eat this. It was… whatever it was. Definitely inedible. But… god, you don’t want to hurt Papyrus’ feelings! 

Sans is absolutely no help whatsoever. Maybe you could power through. Would Papyrus be upset if you picked out the googly eyes and fridge magnets? 

Guess you’ll have to find out. 

You wait patiently as Papyrus picks up your plate and gives you a giant heaping of “spaghetti.” He does the same for Sans and himself. 

After sitting down, he picks up his fork and begins greedily piling food into his mouth. You throw one more pleading glance at Sans, but he’s already preoccupied with his own food. Picking up your fork, you swirl a few noodles around your fork, pointedly avoiding the alphabet magnets and googly eyes. A few stickers and some glitter never hurt anyone, right? 

Oh, well. Here goes nothing. 

You hesitantly push the spaghetti into your mouth and have to physically stop yourself from gagging. 

Oh my _god_.

As if the look wasn’t bad enough, the smell hitting your nose was like diving head-first into a dumpster after a rainy day. In other words-- very, very bad. 

And don’t even get you started on the taste. The second it hits your tongue your taste buds are assaulted by something overly-sweet and grainy and wrong, and you can feel the corner of a sticker poking into your tongue already… and you haven’t even started chewing yet. 

You brace yourself for your first chew, but a sudden knock at the door behind you makes you freeze. Were they expecting someone else? 

“i think someone’s at the door, bro,” Sans says, shooting it a glance. “you should go check.” 

“HOW ODD! I WAS NOT EXPECTING ANY MORE VISITORS,” Papyrus starts, standing from the table. His face is kind of covered in spaghetti sauce. “PLEASE EXCUSE ME, MISS HUMAN. I MUST GO CHECK WHO IS INTERRUPTING OUR FRIENDSHIP SPAGHETTI DINNER.” 

The second he’s out of your line of sight you reach for the paper napkins in the center of the table. Sans is very clearly holding in a laugh. 

“stars, kid,” he wheezes out quietly, silent amusement overtaking him. “i didn’t think you’d do it!”

You shoot him the dirtiest look you can muster, then discreetly spit your food out into the napkin. Thank god. 

When you look up, Sans is reaching for your plate. 

“What are you--” 

“i got ya covered,” he says, shooting you a wink. 

He moves your plate under the table and you hear a scraping sound, and then the sound of something hitting the bottom of a plastic bin. Was there a trash can down there? That’s genius! He glances up towards the archway. Papyrus will be back any second. 

In one swift, silent motion, your almost-clean plate is replaced and he scrapes the pasta monstrosity off of his own. In the knick of time, he sets his plate back down on the table and Papyrus strides in, taking his seat once more. 

“IT APPEARS WE HAVE BEEN DINGED, DONGED, AND DITCHED, BUT IT IS NO MATTER, FOR IT IS NOT I WHO HAVE BEEN THOROUGHLY JAPED, BUT THE DITCHERS!” Papyrus says, raising his fork once more to finish off his plate. “NYEH HEH HEH! THEY ARE MISSING OUT ON THIS DELICIOUS, HAND-CRAFTED MEAL MADE ONLY WITH THE FINEST INGREDIENTS!!” 

He looks to both of your empty plates. 

“WOW, AND IT APPEARS TO HAVE BEEN A HIT! IT SEEMS BOTH YOU AND MY BROTHER COULD NOT GET ENOUGH OF MY IMPECCABLE COOKING. PERHAPS YOU WOULD LIKE SECONDS?” he asks, gesturing to the bowl. 

Oh hell no. 

“That’s okay-”

“i think we’re good, paps-”

You and Sans begin to speak at the same time, each cutting the other off. You glance at each other in silent panic. You decide you’ll try and cover for the both of you. 

“I don’t think I could eat another bite,” you say, trying to pass the words off as a compliment. 

“me either. don’t really have the _backbone_ ,” Sans adds, grin widening. 

You let out a chuckle. 

“I think my waistline is barely _scraping_ by as it is.” 

“nah, don’t _trash_ yourself like that, pal. i’d hate to see you _down in the dumps_.”

“Thanks, Sans. Nice to know I’m not _disposable_.” 

“OF COURSE YOU ARE NOT DISPOSABLE, MISS HUMAN! YOU MAKE OUR WEEKLY SHOPPING TRIP EVEN MORE EXHILARATING THAN IT ALREADY IS!,” Papyrus says, and it warms your heart a little. “NOW, ENOUGH IDLE TALK OF BODILY INSECURITIES. WE MUST MOVE ON TO THE GAMING PORTION OF THE EVENING!” 

Oh, yeah. You forgot you were going to be playing games, too. You were probably too busy worrying about the not-throwing-up part. 

“What kind of games are we playing?”

“I BELIEVE THE REAL QUESTION IS WHAT KIND OF GAMES ARE WE NOT PLAYING!” Papyrus proclaims as he gathers up everything on the table and totes it to the kitchen, rinsing the used plates and storing the uneaten “meal.” 

As he leaves, Sans speaks up from beside you. 

“thanks for playin’ along,” he says casually, hands shoved into the pockets of his parka. “stuff like this kinda means a lot to him.” 

The way he says it kind of makes you feel bad for not wanting to eat what Papyrus made, but then again… it wasn’t exactly edible. You still appreciate the sentiment, though. 

“Of course,” you say, offering a small smile. A beat of silence passes, and you feel like you should say something else. “... He seems really nice. Like he doesn’t have a bad bone in his body.” 

A small chuckle escapes Sans.

“you’re right,” he says, and the fondness in his voice is sweet. “he’s the coolest. this is a close second, though.” 

You’re confused about what he means until he’s tilting the ketchup bottle beside him backwards into his mouth. And drinking. 

He’s _fucking drinking it_. 

_He’s drinking the ketchup_.

You can’t even try to hide the look of absolute horror and disgust on your face.

After a big, long squeeze, he sets the ketchup bottle back down on the table and sighs happily. His expectant gaze reaches you, awaiting your reaction. 

You haven’t moved an inch. 

“wanna see me do it again?” he asks teasingly, hand reaching for the bottle again. 

“Ew, no!!” You rush out, utter disbelief evident in your voice. 

His laugh sounds satisfied, and his fingers merely dance on the cap of the squeeze bottle. 

“your loss.” 

Welp. At least that explains all the ketchup they’ve been buying. 

Once Papyrus is back, he picks up the conversation like he never even left. The spaghetti sauce is gone from his face. “I HAVE SELECTED A VARIETY OF GAMES FOR OUR EVENING THAT INTEND TO SHOWCASE MY- I MEAN OUR WIT, STRATEGY AND REASONING SKILLS!,” he says, drawing in a deep breath in preparation. “AND THOUGH I WILL OBVIOUSLY WIN EACH OF THESE TESTS OF SKILL WITH FLYING COLORS, DO NOT LOSE HOPE, MISS HUMAN! THIS IS STILL YOUR CHANCE TO IMPRESS ME WITH YOUR ALMOST-EQUALLY GREAT SKILLS! 

Coming from anyone else, you’d be offended and probably call them arrogant. But for some reason hearing all of that come from Papyrus was encouraging. It’s like he was giving both you and himself a pep talk. 

It filled you with something you couldn’t really describe. 

“Alright, Papyrus! Bring it on! Show me what you’ve got,” you say playfully, knowing full well you’re about to lose horribly. May was well try and give him a run for his money, right? 

Well, as it turns out, you aren’t even good enough at the games to do that. The first game you played was Sorry. You kept up pretty well until about the third turn, when you got hit two turns in a row with “move back” cards. From then, it was mainly just between the brothers. Sans played a hard game right up until the end when he “accidentally” switched pawns with you and ended up halfway across the board from his safe zone. Coincidentally, Papyrus just needed one or two more turns to win. After claiming his winning title, Papyrus makes a comment about his brother’s “GRAVE ERROR,” but insists the pun is way better than any skeleton joke Sans tells because it’s “TASTEFUL.” 

The rest of the games (which include Jenga, Battleship and Go Fish) proceed pretty much the same, with you effectively removing yourself as a threat early on and Sans throwing the game right before he wins. 

Guess it makes Papyrus’ victory all-the-more sweet. 

You didn’t really mind, though. You were never a particularly competitive person when it came to games like this (except Uno, but you don’t want to ruin this friendship before it’s even begun). Plus, it was kind of sweet that Sans wanted his brother to win. 

Before you know it the clock is nearing 9, and Papyrus is insisting that you stay for at least one movie. You relent, of course, because as you’re quickly learning, it’s almost impossible to turn him down. 

Though, you wish you had known which movie he meant before agreeing to stay. 

After rising to the surface, Mettaton instantly became a crowd favorite among monster supporters. His wide-reaching messages of monster positivity were unquestionably valuable to the success of monster-human relations--but that doesn’t mean he’s not a shitty actor. Well, in your opinion, at least. There are still plenty of people that back anything Mettaton does, and from the looks of it, it seems like Papyrus is one of those people.

The taller skeleton brother chose a “classic” Mettaton film from the Underground for your viewing pleasure tonight, “Daze of Our Lives,” in which Underground super-star Mettaton must regain his memory after his “undeniable beauty” causes a series of fainting spells. He’s in his square, outdated form, and his voice feels like a bad text-to-speech program. 

It’s just as awful as it sounds. 

Buy by god if Papyrus doesn’t love it. You lose count of how many times he has chimed in with random tidbits of information about the “behind the scenes” of the film, with everything from how the costumes were made to the “EXQUISITE” decisions made by the characters (all of which were, of course, played by Mettaton). Though you have absolutely no interest in the movie, you listen to his ramblings and try to ask questions. It’s the least you could do to try and seem interested in something he genuinely cares about. 

Sans, on the other hand, is snoozing quietly on the couch behind you. He’s in a seated position with his hands behind his head, similar to when you arrived. You can see out of the corner of your eye the faint light from the TV dancing on the surface of his bones, but try not to pay attention. Getting caught staring once was more than enough. 

To the right of the TV is a staircase you hadn’t noticed before, leading to a line of four doors on the second level of the house. That must be their rooms. What were the other two doors, then? Maybe a bathroom and closet? Luckily you haven’t needed to use the bathroom since you got here, saving you the embarrassment of asking. What if they didn’t even have one? They were skeletons after all, and from what you understand, magic food dissolves. But if that’s the case, did you eat magic food tonight? It didn’t seem like it. With other magic foods you’ve tried, there’s a distinct dissolving sensation as you’re eating. You didn’t get that from the meal you (almost) ate. Near the table with the rock on it by the front door (you made a note to ask about that later), there's what looks like a sock on the ground with sticky notes surrounding it. You also make a note to ask about that. 

You realize you’re letting your mind wander, and try to pay attention to the movie again. It’s almost over, you think.

You and Papyrus are situated on the floor in front of the couch, purposefully within reaching distance of the popcorn bowl on the coffee table. A few blankets surround the two of you in a makeshift palette. 

Turns out you were right. As the movie comes to a close, you hear Sans stir behind you. The light snoring stops. 

Looking at your phone, you see it’s about 10:30. It’s probably time to start heading home. You don’t have work in the morning, but you don’t want to overstay your welcome in the skeleton brother’s household. 

“It’s getting pretty late,” you say, yawning as you stand from the palette. “I should probably head home.” 

Papyrus nods, taking a look at the clock on the wall. 

“INDEED, MISS HUMAN! IT DOES APPEAR TO BE GETTING DANGEROUSLY CLOSE TO MY BEDTIME,” he says, standing alongside you. You start folding the blankets on the floor and set them beside Sans on the couch, who is now just idly watching the two of you. 

“hate to see us _wrap_ things up, but i’m a little _tuck_ ered out,” Sans adds, a tired smile gracing his face. Papyrus pointedly ignores him. In the dark, the lights in Sans’ eyes seem much brighter, which makes sense, you guess. The shadows under his eyes stand out a little more, too.

“Me too. Thank you guys so much for having me,” you say, looking between the two of them as you grab your bag from nearby. “I had a really great time.” 

“BUT OF COURSE! A MASTER-HOST SUCH AS MYSELF WOULD HAVE NOTHING LESS,” Papyrus says, placing a hand on your shoulder. “WE WILL HAVE TO DO THIS AGAIN SOMETIME. THERE IS SO MUCH MORE FROM METTATON YOU HAVEN’T SEEN!!” 

You chuckle at his enthusiasm, and awkwardly pat the hand he has resting on your shoulder. 

“Sure, I’d like that,” you say. “Just text me and we can set up a time. Or, I guess you’ll see me on Thursday anyway.” 

Shortly after, the three of you are saying your goodbyes and you’re walking out to your car. Unlocking the door, you slide into the driver’s seat and back out of the driveway. You blast the heat the whole 15-minute drive home. Why the hell was it so cold? 

Halfway through your drive home, you realize you forgot your coat. 

Nice.


	4. Bones to Pick

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sans pays us a visit, and we get the pleasure of meeting Jackson.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey!! I’m pumping these out basically as quick as I can write them, so there’s not really a set schedule.

Your next day at work, a stocky skeleton approaches you with a familiar-looking jacket in his hands. You’re in the middle of your chores as a cashier, making sure all of the merchandise by your register is in its rightful place. 

You meet his eyes and smile. Papyrus isn’t with him, which is weird, but it’s not Thursday. He was probably busy. Speaking of, why was Sans here? Maybe it’s his day off or something. 

“Hey, Sans!” you say with a friendly tone, hoping the anxiousness in your chest doesn’t shine through. This is your first time interacting with Sans alone. Well, aside from briefly at his house, but Papyrus was still nearby. This feels strangely more intimate (but you were ~~probably~~ definitely overreacting). “How’s it going?” 

“hey kid,” he says, the jacket in his hands dangling a bit awkwardly. He gestures to it, and extends the jacket towards you. “think you forgot this at our house. didn’t wanna _jack it_ from ya.”

You laugh a little at his joke, and gently take your jacket from him. 

“Thanks, I’ve been missing it,” you say as you fold the jacket over your arm. “Can’t say I blame you for wanting to keep it, though. Would have been a _steal_.” 

It’s his turn to chuckle as he shoves his hands into his jacket pockets. 

“nah, that woulda _robbed_ me the chance of _payin’_ you a visit.”

You laugh again, but fall short of words. You know he doesn’t mean the way it sounds, like he was looking forward to seeing you, but you still feel your face heating anyway. An awkward silence fills the air. 

“Well, um… I should probably, ah, get back to work,” you say, tilting your head back towards your register. “But thanks for bringing by my jacket. I appreciate it. See you Thursday?” 

He nods, but seems to realize something. He’s leaning with his shoulder on your drink cooler, one of his slippered feet propped up vertically, tapping the floor. 

“yeah, uh, actually,” he starts hesitantly, and you feel your nerves spike. “paps was wantin’ me to invite you over again for friday. says he wants to give you the chance to redeem yourself.” 

Redeem yourself? Woah, that didn’t sound good. Was your first impression in their home really that bad? 

Your confusion and worry must be evident on your face as Sans rushes to clarify. 

“didn’t mean to _rattle your bones_ , pal,” he says with a breathy laugh. “i think he’s talkin’ ‘bout the games.” 

Oh, okay. That makes more sense. Well, he should have just said that! 

You let out an amused sign of relief. 

“What a way with words you have,” you say, smiling cheekily. “Scared me half to _death_.” 

You get what sounds like a pity laugh out of him.

“Anyway, in my defense, you two are impossibly good at the games we played,” you say, a look of exasperation on your face. “I probably couldn’t redeem myself if I tried.” 

“ _tibia_ honest, i think he just wants an excuse to have you over again, kid,” he says kind of matter-of-factly. “not often someone’s willin’ to sit through those old rust-bucket movies with him.” 

Rust bucket movies? He must be talking about Mettaton. The thought that Papyrus wants you over again warms your heart, and a sweet smile comes to your face. It also makes you a little sad that people wouldn’t want to watch the movies with him, even if they’re bad. 

“Seems like he enjoys it,” you say, shrugging nonchalantly. “It’s the least I can do.” 

Sans gives you an odd look at that, but says nothing. 

“It sounds fun,” you continue, nodding in affirmation. “I’m down. I’ll text Papyrus after work and we can figure out a time.” 

“sounds good,” he says, pushing himself off the drink cooler with a grunt. “well, i’ll, uh, see you later, bud. stay _cool_.” 

One of his fingers knocks twice on the drink cooler at his words, his grin widening a little. As he turns to leave, you laugh out a quick goodbye and get that little wave from him again. 

It’s not until now that you realize how quick your heart is beating. You will it to shut up. 

It’s not long after Sans is gone that you start to get an uneasy feeling. Like someone is staring at you. 

You glance around, trying to look casual. Nothing seems out of the ordinary. Tomara left early today to go to a party, leaving you and Jackson to run the registers. Your fellow cashier is taking a new customer at his register, and the rest of the patrons seem to be going about their own business. 

You return your eyes to the cash register in front of you, shaking your head. Must have been your imagination. 

Minutes pass, customers come by and the uneasiness fades. You’re trying to focus on the newest patron coming through your line when you get the feeling again. 

You immediately turn to look behind you, and that’s when you see Jackson pointedly diverting his eyes. Your gaze lingers for a moment, waiting for any kind of acknowledgement from Jackson. When you get none, you slowly turn back to your register. In your peripheral vision, you see his head carefully turn towards you. 

You feel his penetrating stare again. It’s kind of starting to freak you out. 

Rigidly, you return to your duties, trying to not let it get you. Come to think of it, you’re not even sure if Jackson has met Papyrus and Sans. He doesn’t usually work the afternoon shift when they come in. It’s possible he was just as freaked out as you were the first time you met them. But still, that was… unsettling to say the least. Maybe you should ask him about it.

You don’t work up the courage until two days later, during your Wednesday morning shift. 

Jackson is standing in the breakroom in front of his locker, looking at something on his phone. 

“Hey Jackson,” you say kind of quietly, almost afraid to approach him. He tenses, but gives you a short “hey” in reply, not bothering to look at you. 

He’s pretty lanky, with dark brown hair. His skin is fair, to say the least, and makes his dark eyes stick out even more. He looks like he doesn’t get much sleep.

“How have you been? It’s been a while since we’ve gotten the chance to chat,” you push further, hoping maybe he’ll take the bait and you can ask what’s really on your mind. You’re propped up casually against the counter nearby, hoping he can’t see how nervous you are. 

“Fine,” he states. “You?”

“I’ve been doing good, thanks for asking,” you say, trying to figure out a way to ask about the other day. Turns out you don’t have to. 

“I’m sure you have,” he says suggestively, but you’re not really sure what he’s getting at. 

“Yeah,” you supply awkwardly, a strained sound escaping you. “Uh, what makes you say that?”

He smirks to himself, and it almost sends a shiver up your spine. 

“No reason,” he says casually, closing his locker. “Just make sure and tell your _friend_ to watch his back.” 

Your brain doesn’t register his words for a long time. 

“...what’s that supposed to mean?” you ask much quieter than you intend.

“I think you know,” he says, finally meeting your uncomprehending stare. He moves past you towards the open door, pausing in the doorway. “See you later, ________.” 

You stand there in shock, your jaw literally dropping. What in the _fuck_ was that?

Eventually, you’re trying to run through the events that just unfolded. 

First of all, who was he talking about? It has to be Sans, right? He hasn’t even seen Papyrus, and after that little exchange, you’re sure you don’t want him to. 

What’s with the hostility though? Jackson hasn’t even really met Sans. In fact, he’s seen him once, as far as you know. 

On top of that, there are tons of monster patrons that shop at your store and Jackson has never said a single bad thing about them. Well… not to you. Anti-monster sentiment isn’t tolerated at Mountainside Market— it’s bad for business. 

So, what changed? 

Maybe Jackson was just scared. As much as you hate to admit it, you were kind of scared of the brothers when you first met them. The whole “walking, talking skeleton” thing was understandably hard to swallow. Even now, they’re still a little weird to you sometimes. That has to be all it is, right? Jackson is just scared, and he’s lashing out because of it. 

But even as you try to convince yourself, you can’t shake the feeling that something is very wrong. 

What do you do? You can’t just let it slide and act like it didn’t happen. You want your customers to feel safe here, but… you also need Jackson not to hate you, for Sans’ sake if nothing else. He was the one being threatened, after all. So, that leaves you with two options. Either you talk to Jackson yourself, or you tell your boss. It’s a hard choice. Your store has a three-strike policy, and after three strikes, you’re out. Fired. Gone. 

As of now, Jackson has one strike, and it was from right after he was hired. You remember the day pretty clearly. It was about a year ago, and he was still in training with Tomara at the time, as she’s the most veteran cashier. Long story short, he mouthed off, said some pretty nasty things, and Tomara reported him. Turns out he has quite the temper. After that, management asked him (read: do this, or you’re fired) to take some anger management classes, and he seemed to mellow out after that. 

Well, you _thought_ so. 

So, what the hell do you do? Give Jackson his second strike, or try to handle it yourself? You spend the majority of your afternoon shift trying to answer just that. 

What it boiled down to was this: you don’t have the confidence to confront Jackson yourself, and you don’t want to drag Tomara into this. That leaves you with one option: you’re going to report him. 

Towards the end of your shift, after you finish up your chores, you approach your boss Anna and let her in on the situation. In that scary managerial tone she takes on from time to time, she says she’ll “take care of it,” and that’s the end of the conversation. 

But that’s the easy part; now you have to deal with Jackson.


	5. Oh Shardt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jackson's back at it again, and you have a heart to heart with Tomara. 
> 
>  
> 
> TW: This story has some graphic depictions of blood. If you are sensitive to that kind of material, skip the portion between the lines.

When you walk into work the next day, everything seems normal. 

Jackson and Tomara are chilling out in the break room before the store opens, quietly existing in each other’s presence. When you walk in, you expect the tension in the room to spike, but it doesn’t. Tomara greets you with a smile, and you respond in kind. Granted, you’re blatantly avoiding any contact whatsoever with Jackson, but otherwise everything is fine. 

It’s not until an hour into your shift that your boss, Anna, swings open her office door to do the deed. Her blonde ponytail swishes behind her, and her small form betrays just how intimidating you find her. She’s nice, don’t get you wrong, but you wouldn’t want to be on her bad side. When she calls Jackson’s name, you can’t help but cast your eyes down to the floor. The dust bunnies forming behind your register become infinitely more interesting. 

As Jackson walks into the office, Anna pulls the door to. Tomara shifts her curious gaze to you. 

“What was that all about?” she questions, tilting her head a little to the left. 

In the panic of the moment, you lie. 

“I’m not sure,” you quietly supply with a shrug. The squint of her eyes tell you that she knows something’s up, but you don’t want to drag her into this. It’ll probably be over soon, anyway. Another customer is approaching your line, and you gladly accept the distraction. 

In spite of your fierce rationalization, you still find the situation nagging you. You think about last night. Even as you were laying in bed, willing your mind to shut off, it wouldn’t. Jackson got in your head. Aside from being worried about what he said, the feeling of his eyes on your back lingered like a ghost, prodding the edges of your consciousness the moment you let your mind relax. Suffice to say, you didn’t get much sleep last night. You wouldn’t have gotten any if it wasn’t for the comforting warmth of your cat sleeping quietly beside you. Bless her soul. 

It’s not long after that you hear the creaking of the office door as it opens once more. Instantly you brace yourself, as if you’re preparing for something. You aren’t really sure what. That didn’t take long at all, though. Why were they done so soon? You expected raised voices, slamming doors. You got neither. 

Instead, the casual stroll Jackson takes on as he exits the office seems carefree, relaxed. The leisurely smile gracing his thin lips was smug, but that wasn’t anything new. The look in his eyes was something... different, though. When he turned his head to meet your stare, it felt like he was looking through you, not at you. It kind of gave you goosebumps. 

Still, Jackson said nothing, and returned to his station as if nothing had happened. Maybe nothing did happen. Maybe Anna didn’t talk to him about his conduct at all, and maybe you all could just forget it ever happened. But you knew you couldn’t. If there was any real threat behind his words, and something happened, you don’t think you could forgive yourself. 

Moments after Jackson returned to his register, Anna calls your name and asks to “speak with you in her office.” Your nervousness worsens, and you get the urge to wipe your sweaty palms on the front of your pants. You resist, albeit barely, as you enter the threshold of her office. 

Anna walks behind the large desk covered with stacks of papers and binders, and sits in her lofty-looking desk chair. The way it dwarves her is pretty funny, but you aren’t really feeling it. You sit in a much stiffer chair across from her, and desperately try to hide the anxiousness welling up in your throat. 

“So, _________,” Anna says slowly with a sigh, crossing her legs under the desk. “I just spoke with Jackson.” 

You reply with a nod, waiting her her to continue. 

“For the most part, he seemed to take it okay. I didn’t disclose who filed the complaint, or the specific details of why, but I get the feeling he knows the reason. If he gives you any more problems, I ask that you tell me right away so that we can--” 

_CRASH._

Anna’s words are cut off by the sound of breaking glass on the other side of the door. She’s up and out the door by the time you even leave your chair, and the commotion you hear sends your heart racing.

\------------------------------------------------------

But by the time you reach the door, everything has calmed down. Jackson is down on one knee in front of his register, and from your point of view, you can see him leaning down to pick up something from the floor. You see Tomara approach from behind him with a broom and dust pan, moving to shoo him aside. As she grows closer, though, something stops her dead in her tracks. In front of her, Jackson is gripping a shard of broken glass so hard his knuckles are turning white. His eyes are trained on the blood dripping from his clenched fist, collecting into a small puddle on the ground. 

From behind, Tomara speaks gently. You aren’t sure where Anna went. 

“...Jackson?”

The shard of glass clatters to the ground. Jackson snaps out of whatever trance he’s in, and soon he’s offering Tomara an apologetic smile. 

“My bad,” he says, head turning to you. Your breath hitches. “Guess I wasn’t thinking.”

His eyes connect with yours. A shaking index finger rises to his lips, and his tongue gingerly moves along its length, licking off a line of blood. 

You stare back in stunned silence, swallowing the hard lump in your throat. 

\-------------------------------------------------------

Anna emerges from the break room with the employee medical kit, prompting Jackson to rise from his kneeling position. You feel his stare even after his eyes leave you, even after he’s out of your line of sight. 

The uneasiness you feel is mirrored in Tomara’s expression as the two of you turn your attention to the bloody shard abandoned on the floor. From the looks of the broken glass, the pieces belonged to a flower vase. 

Nearby, customers are starting to gather. The patron Jackson was in the middle of checking out when the glass broke is standing a few feet back. It was a mother and daughter, and from the looks of it they were rabbit-type monsters. You take one look at the mother’s weary expression and remember you’re at work. Instantly, you’re approaching her and explaining what would happen next, and that she could come over to your line to check out. 

You make quick work of putting up the necessary “caution” signs while Tomara gets to work handling the cleanup. You never thought you’d use that bio-hazards training, but boy were you wrong. 

After apologizing to the rabbit mother and daughter during their checkout, you assure them, to the best of your ability, that everything is fine. But with one available cashier, you were doing your best to get everyone through the line as quickly as possible. That didn’t exactly leave a lot of room for comforting disturbed customers. Unfortunately, this also meant you had to cut your conversation short with Esther, but you promised to fill each other in on all your juicy gossip next time. You kind of felt like it was a good thing, though, as much as you hate missing your weekly catch-up sessions; Esther has a way of seeing through your shitty facade. 

Turns out, so does Sans. 

When he comes through your line with Papyrus hours later, you’re still feeling like shit. Jackson left a little while after his “accident,” but the more time that passed, the deeper the pit in your stomach felt. Still, you try to push the feeling down-- you can’t help but feel like you’re overreacting. Sure, it was freaky, but it wasn’t _that_ freaky. Right? 

Sans chimes in during a break in your conversation with Papyrus. 

“you doin’ okay, pal?” he asks, a brow (bone?) raised. You still aren’t sure how his face moves like that. "you're not lookin' too hot." 

“Yeah, yeah, I’m good!” you provide a little too enthusiastically, instantly chiding yourself at your tone. “Just, uh… been a long day, is all. Ready to get home, chill with my cat, watch some TV, y’know. What about you?” 

If slapping a hand over your face wasn’t a dead giveaway you were lying, you would do it. You curse your frazzled nerves for always forcing out word vomit in the worst situations. 

Sans eyes you in what looks like carefully-veiled suspicion, but seems to drop the subject. Thank god. 

“oh, y’know, the usual,” he starts, shrugging. “cookin’ up a few ‘dogs, catchin’ up on my soaps.” 

The thought of Sans watching a soap opera is probably more funny to you than it should be. When he hears your laugh, a joking look of offense overtakes his features. 

“what, a skeleton can’t enjoy a few soaps?” when the only response he gets from you is another laugh, his expression resorts to rueful understanding. “if _bonely_ i knew sooner.”

“SANS, YOU DON’T USE SOAP,” Papyrus huffs out as he reaches between the two of you, grabbing his grocery bags. “AND I CANNOT EVEN BEGIN TO STRESS THE SLOTHFULNESS OF DEVOTING YOUR TIME TO WATCHING SOMETHING YOU DO NOT EVEN USE.” 

“got me there, paps,” he says, shooting you a wink. In spite of yourself, heat rises to your face, and you feel yourself holding back a snicker. Damn Sans and his weirdly attractive sense of humor. 

Wait, his _what?_

Oh my god. You did not just say that. 

~~You kind of definitely did, but go off I guess.~~

You shake whatever embarrassing thoughts you were having out of your head, handing Papyrus the receipt. 

“Anyway, I’ll see you guys tomorrow?” you ask with a more genuine smile, eyes switching between the brothers. 

“MOST CERTAINLY, MISS HUMAN!” Papyrus announces, plucking the receipt from your hands. His eyes narrow as he turns to look at his brother. “AND YOU HAVE MY WORD THAT THERE WILL BE NO SOAP-WATCHING INVOLVED.” 

A small chuckle escapes your lips. 

“Thanks, Papyrus. I just want a night of good, _clean_ fun.” 

Your eyes look to Sans, and watch as his smile twitches upward, and his sockets crinkle in amusement. You think he’s probably holding back the joke he was cooking up in his skull. The parting look he gives you is just a tad too long, and you feel a pang of guilt in your chest. You hate lying, especially to your friends. You’ll have to apologize once the wound’s not so fresh (no pun intended). 

After Sans and Papyrus are gone, you’re back to waiting out the end of your shift, looking for distractions from the image of Jackson that keeps popping into your head. The radio silence you’re getting from Tomara is starting to bother you, too, but you kind of earned that one. Guess you’ll have to tell her sooner than you thought. 

You catch her in the break room after clocking out. 

“Hey, Tomara,” you start cautiously, unsure of how to approach the subject. “Can we talk?”

The scoff you get in return is discouraging. 

“What, so now you want to talk?” she says scornfully, arms crossed in front of her. 

Immediately your posture crumples in on itself, and you lean to support yourself on the counter nearby. 

“Look, I’m sorry, okay?” you insist, running a hair through your hair. “I just... I didn’t think it would be that big of a deal.”

Tomara’s confusion is evident, and she waits for you to explain yourself. 

“The other day, Sans came by the store,” you say with a sigh, trying to remember your spiel the way you practiced it in your head. “We talked for a few minutes, and then he left. That’s literally it. But when I went back to work, I felt Jackson... staring at me. I even caught him once, but I thought maybe I was just imagining things.” 

You sigh again, this time in dread of the next part of your story. 

“I figured I would talk to him, see what’s up. But when I tried he just kind of brushed me off, was kinda rude. When I pushed the conversation a little, he told me that Sans should watch his back. When I asked what he meant, he just said ‘I think you know,’ and walked off.” 

You tried to play it off casually, but your voice betrayed you. Tomara’s expression turned to one of concern, and the anger in her posture melted into something more unsure. 

“That’s really weird,” she says, gaze trained on you. You nod, continuing. 

“I thought so too, so I… went and told Anna. She said she’d handle it,” your eyes are glued on the wall in front of you, trying to avoid Tomara’s sympathetic stare. “That’s what this morning was. When she called me in, she was just explaining what happened with Jackson. Three strike policy, and all. That’s when we heard the glass break, and then...” 

You trail off. Tomara knows what happened next. You don’t need to tell her. The two of you sit in a tense silence for a moment, neither knowing what to say. Finally, your coworker speaks up. 

“I know Jackson’s been acting kind of weird lately, but I didn’t really think anything of it,” she says guiltily. “Maybe he’s… I don’t know. Everything was fine until that vase broke. It was like some switch got flipped.” 

You nod in understanding, shifting on your feet uncomfortably. 

“Did you… see what he was doing with that piece of glass?” you ask carefully. 

“Yeah,” she says, quickly, obviously not wanting to talk about it. 

“That was fucked,” you say, looking to her. 

She meets your eyes, discomfort evident. 

“Yeah.” 

After a moment or two of silence, she speaks up again. 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” 

She sounded kind of hurt. You think over your words carefully. 

“I just…” you begin, eyes looking anywhere but her. “I didn’t want you to worry, if it wasn’t going to be a problem. I know you and Jackson aren’t exactly best friends to begin with, and I was just kind of hoping it’d fizzle out. I thought maybe he was just scared.” 

She lets out a chuckle, relenting. 

“Guess you have a point,” she says, but her expression shifts to something more determined. “But if something like this happens again, I need you to promise me that you’ll tell me. And not just after something bad happens.” 

Her look is serious, and you feel yourself squirm. You don’t like promises. Someone always ends up disappointed. You offer the next best thing. 

“Okay,” you say, finally meeting her insistent stare. “I’ll try.” 

For a moment you think she’s going to push you to actually make a promise, but her expression softens. 

“Okay,” she says, finally dropping her arms. “Good enough.” 

She grabs her jacket from her locker, and re-locks it. Looking to you, she pats your shoulder. 

“Well, let’s get out of here,” she says, a smile pulling at the corner of her lips. “I’ve had enough of this place for a lifetime.”

You laugh understandingly, and gather your things. Your walk to the door is filled with companionable silence, and once you’re alone in your car, you let out the longest, most exasperated sigh you can muster. 

Today was a hell of a day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's a summary of the portion between the brackets: Jackson breaks a vase and cuts his hand, but in a totally creepy and off-putting way. 
> 
>  
> 
> Anyway. This chapter sucked to write. But either way, here it is! I keeping going back through Sans' and Papyrus' dialogue in the game to try and write realistic dialogue, so sorry if it still seems a little OOC. I'm working on it!


	6. A Shocking Discovery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You go the the skeleton brothers' house for a second night of friendship spaghetti, but a shock puts a damper on your evening.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> believe it or not, i actually didn't forget about this story! the next few chapters have just been incredibly difficult to write, for some reason.

Jackson isn’t at work the next morning, much to your relief. Without the weight of his creepy-ass mannerisms on your shoulders, you find the day going by much faster than usual. You and Tomara spend your lunch break together, for once, showing each other funny Twitter videos on your phones as you eat your packed lunches. 

It’s nice. You wish you had more opportunities to spend time with her like this, but it’s unfortunately been pretty difficult to bridge that gap between work friends and actual friends. Come to think of it, you don’t really have any actual non-work friends. At least… not yet. You still aren’t very sure where Sans and Papyrus fall. You like to think you’re in the real-friend zone, but seeing them at work every Thursday to bag their groceries makes it hard to tell. 

Going to their house for dinner for the second time makes you feel a little more like their friend, rather than their cashier, though. You’re still a little nervous about your interaction with Sans at work the other day, but you’re mostly banking on him not asking about it. You aren’t really sure what you’d say even if he did ask; you get the feeling, “hey, this guy threatened you and I didn’t tell you” wouldn’t go over well. 

You raise a hand to knock on their door, feeling the cold as your cropped hoodie rises up your torso. You tried to stick with something casual, like last time. You knew you’d be nervous, though, so the prospect of long sleeves gave you something to mess with when you felt your nerves eating at you. Accordingly, you feel your fingers begin to idly play with the fabric as a heavy set of footsteps approaches the door. 

“AH, MISS HUMAN! WHAT A TOTALLY EXPECTED SURPRISE! DO COME INSIDE, DINNER WILL BE READY MOMENTARILY,” Papyrus says as he opens the door, a cute apron with the words “Kiss the Chef” adorning his large but bony frame. 

You laugh as you greet the tall skeleton, stealing a look at the watch on your wrist. 6:55. A little earlier than you would like, but it seemed to work out this time. Papyrus shimmies you out of your overcoat and hangs it on the rack behind the door. You make a note not to forget it this time. Looking out into the living room, you don’t see Sans propped up on the couch like he was last time. Huh. Maybe he’s busy tonight? 

Ignoring the disappointment in your chest, you turn to face the sock by the door. Enshrined in a slew of sticky notes, you can’t help but find yourself enraptured by the sock’s mysterious existence. Leaning over, you try to get a look at what you assume is the first sticky note put on the sock-- a relic, if you will. 

“BROTHER! TEND TO THIS SOCK!” the first note read, Papyrus’ iconic handwriting scrawled in red. The next note was a little above the first, with a very small “ok.” written in the center of it. You giggled softly to yourself, remembering the first night you visited. The subsequent sticky notes chronicle Papyrus’ hard-fought battle to get this sock removed from the living room floor-- a battle which he has yet to win, from the looks of it. With each frustrated request from Papyrus comes either a simple “ok.” or a clever quip from Sans. One of your favorites: 

“SANS, I WILL NOT REPEAT MYSELF. REMOVE. THIS. SOCK!!!!!!!!!” 

“sorry bro, couldn’t read that. reception _socks_ down here.” 

The illegible scribbling on the next sticky note tells you just what Papyrus thought of Sans’ little joke. 

You laugh quietly to yourself, squatting to get a better view of some of the notes. A comforting quiet settles over the house. 

You don’t notice the quiet approach of footsteps behind you. 

“that knocks your socks off, huh?” a calm voice asks from behind you, and you almost scream. Nearly falling over, you pivot your weight to the side, attempting to balance yourself as a hand and foot shoot out to steady you. Frightened, you look behind you to see who nearly scared the piss out of you, neck straining at the angle. 

A simultaneously cheeky and apologetic looking skeleton peers down into your wide eyes, hands shoved into the pockets of his coat. For a moment you think back to Jackson, that feeling of being looked through instead of at, and shudder. You let out an exasperated laugh in spite of yourself, thought, stretching out your other leg to sit down on the floor with your hands behind you. 

“Oh, it’s just you,” you huff, a relieved smile tugging at the corner of your lips. His lips quirk at that in a lopsided smile, half-shrug in progress. 

“who else?” he asks curiously.

“Maybe the ghost of sticky-notes-past,” you muse quietly to yourself, tucking one leg back in as you prepare to get up. The small chuckle you hear from Sans helps ease the tension you feel. He extends a hand down to you, eyes meeting yours expectantly. You feel your mind stutter. 

A spark of hesitant surprise flares in your eyes as they trail down to his hand. You pause, internally shaking yourself out of your thoughts. What’s the big deal? He’s just offering to help you up. You smile awkwardly as you reach one hand up to his.

 

Skin meets bone, but all you feel is a shock. Time almost stops, slowing to a crawl. 

(E/c) pupils meet shrinking pale-blue ones, you let go of his hand, and you fall only a few inches to the floor below you.

A chaotic silence fills the room, and suddenly you’re very aware of your breathing. Your eyes meet his again in a silent question.

What the hell was _that_?

 

From the looks of it, Sans is wondering the same thing. Blue beads of… _something_ roll unassumingly down the side of his skull, leaking onto his vertebrae and into the darkness under his shirt collar. He averts his eyes from your still-questioning gaze, pupils roaming the palm of his hand analytically, as if it holds the answer to both of your questions. 

A loud clang from the kitchen interrupts the uncomfortable silence. 

With a sigh, Sans shoves his hand back into his pocket, stepping back a little to presumably give you some room to stand. 

You take the cue, pushing yourself up from the ground with your hands. In an effort to ease the awkwardness, you let out a pitiful laugh. 

“That was, um… kind of _shocking_ , huh?” you ask meekly, bringing up a hand to run through your hair out of habit. When you’re met with less than a response, you push onward. “Uh, i-it must have been, like, static electricity or something. Sorry about that, heh.” 

The dry swallow following your words feels like sand. Your fingers begin to idly pick away at the sleeves of your hoodie. 

It felt like a little more than just static electricity, but you don’t need to tell _him_ that. Surely he already knows. 

But it looks like Sans is kind of back to himself, at least. 

“don’t sweat it kid,” he huffs out quietly, eye lights peering over his shoulder to the kitchen. “it’s the downside ‘a wearin’ slippers. doesn’t ex _zap_ ly encourage me to keep up a _lightin’_ fast pace, y’know?”

The joke is there, but the delivery falls a little flat. You laugh anyway in an attempt to restore a sense of normalcy to this now incredibly unsettling conversation. 

Luckily, Papyrus is good at these kinds of things. 

“MISS HUMAN, THE DINNER PREPARATIONS ARE COMPLETE,” he shouts from the kitchen, head peeking around the closed-off doorway of the kitchen. Sans stood with his back to Papyrus, while you faced the taller brother, able to see him just barely over Sans’ shoulder. Papyrus seems to pick up on the odd tension in the room, brow bones furrowing just slightly as he assesses the situation. But as quickly as it came, the expression is gone, replaced with his usual eccentricity. 

“T-thanks, Papyrus,” you manage, smiling stiffly to him over Sans’ shoulder. “We’ll be right there.” 

With a nod, Papyrus swivels back into the kitchen, the tails of his apron swishing behind him. You inhale as you give Sans a glance-over one more time, restrained sigh escaping through your nostrils in a huff. Side-stepping the smaller skeleton, you quirk the corners of your lips up in some sort of smile as you stride forward. 

“C’mon,” you say over your shoulder, trying to shake off the conversation. Thankfully Sans gets the hint, following behind you quietly to the dining room. As you sit down at their dinner table again, a heavier set of footsteps approaches from the kitchen, clanging dishes and all. 

“SANS, I HOPE YOU AND OUR HUMAN FRIEND ARE SEATED, AS THIS MAY BE FAR TOO MUCH FOR ANYONE OTHER THAN I, THE GREAT PAPYRUS, TO ENDURE STANDING!” Papyrus emerges from the kitchen holding a metal, covered dish. One oversized, skeletal hand rests on the top handle, ready for a dramatic unveiling. “SANS AND MISS HUMAN, I AM PRESENTING TO YOU A NEW-AND-POSSIBLY-IMPROVED FRIENDSHIP SPAGHETTI!” 

Instantly, you blanch. No. No, no. Not again. 

And this time, Sans might not be able to bail you out. 

Just what the hell does he mean by “improved?” This is bad. _Very_ bad. 

You didn’t think this through. 

Papyrus flamboyantly lifts the lid on the spaghetti, arm circling up as he raises the lid up over his head. Your eyes peek hesitantly at the contents of the plate to discover--

a completely normal looking casserole dish of spaghetti. 

Eyebrows furrowing, you steal a glance to Sans, who is shifting a little uncomfortably in his seat.

His smile looks a little strained, and you can see the small, blue beads of sweat forming on his skull again. All he provides is a small shrug. 

When he doesn’t give you the answers you’re looking for, you turn back to the dish itself and the comparatively large hand presenting it. Where are the googly eyes, the glitter? The stickers, for god's sake? 

Looking back to Papyrus, you realize he’s waiting for your response. 

“Man, this-- this looks,” you pause for a moment, trying to word your next phrase right. “Really good, Papyrus. What did you change?” 

Papyrus lets out a hearty “NYEH,” placing the dish on the table to stand proudly with his hands on his hips. 

“WELL, MISS HUMAN, SANS INFORMED ME THAT HUMANS MAY HAVE A DIFFICULT TIME DIGESTING THE ESPECIALLY CREATIVE ELEMENTS OF MY COOKING,” Papyrus begins, a gloved hand raising to whisk in the air. “ WHICH WAS OF COURSE A DISAPPOINTMENT, BUT YOU CANNOT HELP YOUR LACKING ANATOMICAL FUNCTIONS. THEREFORE, I HAVE ALTERED THE RECIPE TO BETTER SUIT YOUR HUMAN NEEDS.” 

You nod eagerly at his words, a genuine smile gracing your features. You sneak a look at Sans, who now has a light blue glow dusting his features. 

Is he blushing? Is _that_ what it looks like when he blushes? Oh, my god. _That’s precious._

Your heart does something weird in your chest. 

But the instant your thoughts tick that direction, you come down with a heavy hand. Can’t have your mind going there right now-- not after what just happened in the living room. 

You try not to dwell on it. 

As Papyrus sets to serving each of you, the two of you build up a small rapport of how your days went and what your weeks have been like. Sans is still strangely absent from the conversation, though his natural smile seems less tense. You wonder what he’s thinking. 

“MISS HUMAN, PLEASE TELL ME IF THE FRIENDSHIP SPAGHETTI IS UP TO YOUR HUMAN STANDARDS! IT IS ONLY RIGHT THAT OUR NEW FRIENDSHIP BE CONSECRATED OVER A DISH SUITED TO YOUR DIETARY PREFERENCES,” Papyrus calls out from the other side of the table, gazing at you intensely. You aren’t quite sure when he finished serving and took his seat, but you must have stopped paying attention. “I- I MEAN, INFORM ME IF YOU CANNOT HANDLE THE STRENGTH OF MY HOME COOKED GOODNESS!.” 

His flustered correction almost gets a giggle out of you, but you hold it back for his sake, offering a simple smile and nod. Truly, he’s just trying to be a good host, and you appreciate that more than he knows. Just so long as you don’t have to revert back to his original friendship spaghetti recipe. 

Picking up the fork to your right, you cast one last look at Sans before diving into the new-and-improved recipe. He tentatively meets your eyes with a quaint smile, brandishing his own fork. You shoot him a “here we go” look as you twirl the noodles around your fork. 

The noodles are a little mushy, kind of breaking with the motion of your fork, but still edible-looking. You haven’t noticed anything out of the ordinary, yet. As you scoop up some spaghetti sauce, the smell wafts your direction. Don’t get you wrong, it’s not great, but it’s _definitely_ an improvement from the last time.

With much less hesitation than before, you took a bite. And then another. And then another. 

What a happy surprise. The spaghetti was edible-- not only that, it actually tasted pretty decent! And you told him so. 

“Papyrus, this is really good!” you say between bites, dabbing a napkin over your lips to catch any stray pasta sauce. You practically see stars dancing in his eyes at your praise, his mouth falling agape. 

“WOWIE! A GENUINE COMPLIMENT FROM OUR NEWEST HUMAN FRIEND!” Papyrus shouted, flinging a bit of spaghetti off to the side with his exaggerated movements. “THEN I BELIEVE NOW IS AS GOOD A TIME AS ANY TO FORMALLY EXTEND AN INVITATION TO THE INCREDIBLY EXCLUSIVE FRIEND NIGHT EXTRAVAGANZA! HOSTED BY NONE OTHER THAN YOURS TRULY ON TUESDAY OF NEXT WEEK AT 6 P.M. SHARP!!”

As he’s finishing his sentence, the fork lifting more spaghetti into your mouth is halted. A friend night? Isn’t that what you were at right now? 

“Aren’t we already at a friend night, though, Papyrus?” you ask in confusion, lowering your fork to rest on your plate. 

“NYEH HEH HEH!” Papyrus begins, a hint of mischief brewing in his sockets. “RIGHT YOU ARE, MISS HUMAN. BUT THIS INVITATION IS NOT JUST FOR ANY FRIEND NIGHT-- IT IS FOR THE FRIEND NIGHT EXTRAVAGANZA, AN EVENT IN WHICH OUR CLOSEST FRIENDS GATHER FOR AN EXTREME NIGHT OF ANIMATED CARTOONS! JAPES AND NON-JAPES!! OVERWHELMING DELIGHT!!!”

His increasingly ear-drum-bursting volume makes you wince a little, but you try not to let it show. After all, he’s just excited. 

But hanging out with all of their friends? That kind of sounds like a big deal. Do they even know you exist? If they do, does that mean Sans and Papyrus talk about you? Will their friends hate you? Will the skeleton brothers hate you, too, then?

Questions swirl in your mind, circling some non-existent drain. 

Sans seems to pick up on this. 

“you don’t gotta decide right now, kid,” he offers lazily, slumping back into his chair and slipping his hands into his jacket pockets. He seems to have finished eating, already. “‘m sure you’ve prolly got some plans to get sorted out.” 

You silently thank him for picking up on your unease. 

“Y-yeah, I’ll have to check my schedule, but… I should be free, I think,” you add quietly, picking up your fork in an attempt to divert your frayed nerves. “I can text you this weekend and let you know?” 

Papyrus nods emphatically, not looking deterred in the least. Internally, you let out a sigh of relief. The last thing you want to do is hurt his feelings. 

“SPLENDID! I AM VERY MUCH LOOKING FORWARD TO YOUR CONFIRMATION, MISS HUMAN!” he says, scooping a second serving onto his plate. He offers you another helping, but you politely decline. This time you actually were too full, as opposed to unable to stomach it. 

You remind yourself to thank Sans the next time you get a chance. 

Despite the evening’s awkward start, the rest of your visit passes with relative ease. After a few games (which you still lost, of course, but you like to think you put up a better fight than last time), the three of you sat down to watch another Mettaton film from Papyrus’ stockpile. Just like last time, as soon as the cheesy intro music faded and the bad acting began, you heard a quiet snoring behind you. It made you smile. 

Papyrus seems to have less to say about this particular film, but still chimes in every now and then with a tidbit of movie trivia. You try your best to be attentive, to him especially, but you find your mind drifting back to earlier in the evening. 

Firstly, the whole “getting shocked” thing with Sans. Just what the hell was that? It wasn’t the jolt itself that concerned you so much, but Sans’ reaction. Honestly and truly, you just hope you didn’t massively fuck up the extremely fragile friendship currently building between the two of you. 

Well, you hope it’s friendship. The whole spaghetti thing was really nice of him, too. If anything, that hopefully means he doesn’t hate you or something… ~~it also means he was thinking of you, but you won’t get into that right now~~. Fingers crossed, you suppose. 

But, that also begs the question of the “friend night extravaganza.” You were going to go, right? You knew damn well you didn’t have anything else planned-- Sans was just giving you an out if you needed one. Which was _also_ very considerate of him. But some small voice in the back of your head tells you he might have said that because he didn’t want you there. What if the incident from before really put him off that much? As far as you know, you didn’t do anything culturally insensitive or anything. But, then again, you don’t know much about monster culture and customs. For all you knew, you could have just insulted his mother. 

Do skeletons have mothers? 

You shake your head at the random thought, shooing away the unwanted intrusion. You were onto something, here. Maybe you did something offensive. Should you apologize just in case, or would that make it weird? 

Ugh. 

Why is this so hard? Maybe you’re just making it more difficult than it needs to be. 

Closing music begins to play on the TV, and you hear the droll of snores behind you slowly stop. A small sniffle draws your attention to Papyrus, who is discreetly wiping away the orange tear trails tinting his cheeks. Turns out skeletons can cry, too. And it’s different colors depending on who it is? Magic skeletons just keep getting more and more interesting. 

You provide a comforting smile to the taller brother, gently patting his arm (you didn’t want to reach up awkwardly to pat his back, so it’d have to work). A quiet “nyeh” escapes him as he steels himself, his normal demeanor returning. 

“WHAT A MASTERFULLY BEAUTIFUL WORK OF ART!” he concludes, hands clapping together to clasp in front of him. You grin at his enthusiasm, peeking back towards the sleepy skeleton now sitting up on the couch. Sans was idly rubbing a sleeve over one tired eye socket, quiet yawn escaping him. 

_Adorable._

Stretching your arms upward, you straighten your legs from their criss-crossed position. Carefully, you stand, balancing yourself on their coffee table. Two pairs of sockets glance over to you curiously as you let out an apologetic laugh. 

“I think I should probably head home,” you say, straightening your hoodie. Papyrus’ shoulders slump, while Sans’ head just nods in understanding. “Thank you guys so much for dinner and everything. I had a great time.” 

Papyrus stands with you as you lean over to fold up the blanket you were using, placing it onto the armrest of the couch when you finish. 

“no problem, pal,” Sans says, albeit sleepily. The tired gravelly-ness of his voice does more to your heart rate than you’d like to admit, but you adamantly ignore it. “just be safe gettin’ home. wouldn’t want you to _crash_ or anything.” 

It takes a moment, but you giggle softly at his double-entendre, racking your brain for a suitable response. 

“Don’t worry, I’m feeling a little _rest_ less,” you say with a chuckle. “My brain won’t _steer_ me in the wrong direction.” 

The corner of his smile quirks up in response, an amused puff of air escaping him as he reclines on the couch with his hands behind his skull. You’re glad things feel a little more normal, now. 

“YES, MISS HUMAN! DRIVING SAFETY IS OF UTMOST IMPORTANCE, ESPECIALLY AT THIS LATE HOUR! DO TAKE CARE!” Papyrus adds, all mother-hen like. You smile earnestly at his concern, walking to the door.

Making sure to grab your coat and purse from the rack behind the door, you wish the skeletons goodbye as you close the front door behind you. You trudge over to your car, unlocking the door and plopping yourself in the driver’s seat unceremoniously. The clock reads 10:15 p.m. A big, fat sigh leaves you as you think of everything that went wrong tonight. 

But, there is a silver lining: Sans didn’t ask about your weird behavior at work the other day. 

That’s a win in your book.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> look...... you know i had to do it to 'em.


	7. Late Nights are for Bonely People

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Late night texting between Sans and Reader.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a pretty short chapter, but i was feeling indulgent. i’ve got an important question for y’all in the note at the end! :)

Dirtied clothes litter the floor. A mystical, swirling trash tornado gobbles up fast food wrappers and discarded slips of paper from the corner of the room. In the center of his sheetless mattress, Sans sits with a pillow smothering his face. Maybe if he presses hard enough, the thoughts clouding his mind will clear, he thinks. 

He knows he won’t be so lucky. Ever since you left earlier that evening, his mind has been racing. 

A zap, huh? Seemingly innocent and inconsequential. He doesn’t quite know what it means, but he has a pretty good guess. He doesn’t know if he wants to be right, this time. 

Souls weren’t anything new to Sans. In the Underground, he was responsible for judging the souls of those unlucky enough to fall down. 

But, this. This is something different. _You_ are something different. An anomaly. In all of the notebooks he has scoured, all the half-baked memories he’s sifted through, not once did you appear-- not in words, not in pictures, not in the faux memories he sometimes sees at night. 

You’re brand new. And that scares the hell out of him. 

He wants to know more. Will you let him? 

He sighs and lifts the pillow from his face, tossing it off to the side of his bed. It lands somewhere near the abandoned treadmill he keeps around. Snatching his phone from the nightstand, his thumbs scroll through a list of contacts before hovering over yours. He had snagged it from Papyrus the other day, rattling off something about needing to return your jacket. 

He clicks on your name, opening up your contact. The area for a picture is blank. Part of him wishes he had one, but the other knows that’s dangerous territory. That’ll have to wait. 

Clicking on the option to text you, he hesitates. He doesn’t know what to say. Some generic greeting? Something about tonight? Or, maybe the friend night next week?

After a few minutes, he settles on a conglomeration. 

Sans: hey, bud. it’s sans. guess the roads didn’t put u 2 sleep?

Good enough. He hits send, then promptly chucks his phone somewhere farther down the bed. Reaching for a random jokebook he keeps laying around, he idly flips through the pages. 

He snaps the book shut as soon as he hears a buzz from his phone a few minutes later, reaching uncharacteristically quick in his efforts to retrieve it. He lays on his front near the end of the bed, slippered feet dangling in the air. Flipping the phone right-side up in his boney hands, he glances at your response. 

(y/n): Oh, hey Sans! Yeah, I got home safe. Thanks for asking!

He taps his fingers anxiously on the screen, figuring out his next move. Does he text back immediately, or leave it for a few minutes? He doesn’t want to seem too eager. Doesn’t really fit his vibe. But, by the same token... he was eager. He had questions that needed answers, and you probably held them. He sighs. Maybe this was a bad idea. 

He waits about a minute before typing out his next message. 

Sans: no prob, kid. just keepin a socket out for ya.

Sans: btw, don’t think 2 hard about the friend night thing. no pressure. paps just thought it might b fun.

Sans glares at the message after he sends it. Double-texting is a bad thing in human culture, right? Ugh. And he hates sounding so mother-hen, but he didn’t really know how else to say what he wants to say. 

When you finally respond a few minutes later, his double-texting anxiety is put to rest. Evidently some humans _triple text._

(y/n): I appreciate it! :)

(y/n): And thanks. It just kind of caught me off guard, but it sounds fun! I’m looking forward to it.

(y/n): Also, thanks for covering for me at dinner. I wasn’t sure what to say in the moment.

Sans furrows a brow bone at your response. Covering for you at dinner? You must mean when he said something about you having other plans. He’d done something similar before, if he remembers right. Just seemed like the nice thing to do-- giving you an out and all. The skeleton way, if you will.

Sans: don’t worry bout it. does that mean ur planning on coming?

Your response is much faster this time, only a few moments after he sends the message. You must have been busy before, or something. 

(y/n): Yes!

(y/n): If the invitation is still open, I mean. 

Sans chuckles quietly to himself at your attempted addendum. Looking to the LED clock on his nightstand, he notices it’s almost midnight. 

Sans: no bones about it, kid. 

Sans: but it’s gettin pretty late. u should prolly get to bed soon or u’ll b dead tired tomorrow.

As much as he was enjoying the conversation, he knew it’d be best to cut it off now. Late night conversations can get really weird, really fast. 

(y/n): Dang, I guess you’re right. I didn’t realize it was already midnight! You should get some sleep, too. Late nights are bonely.

He snickers at your joke, chin resting in his palm. Little do you know, he doesn’t plan on sleeping tonight. 

Sans: i’ll try. rlly put some backbone into it, u know. 

Your response takes longer than usual, and he begins to panic. Did he say something wrong? 

(y/n): Haha, good! Well, goodnight from us! 

He looks down in confusion at your message, unsure of what you mean by “us.” The image that pops up in the chat moments later is enough to send him to the grave. 

It’s a selfie of you snuggling (what he assumes is) your cat against your cheek, squishing the left side of your face as you smile to the camera. You’re wearing a set of (f/c) long sleeve pajamas with little cartoon cats printed on them. It looks like you took down your hair. 

Sans stares in shock at his screen, sending a quick “night.” in response as he closes his phone and turns over onto his back. He presses the sleeve of his jacket to his face, hoping to block out some of the blue hue rising on his cheeks. 

So, _that’s_ what you meant by “us.”

Welp. At least he got a picture for your contact.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey y’all!! thanks so much for all of your support up to this point. i’ve just got a quick question! from here, the story could go a couple different ways. i originally had something more dark (as far as events/story-line) planned out, but i was wondering what you all thought. would you prefer something on the lighter side, darker side or a mixture of both? let me know in the comments! i want this story to be something y’all enjoy!


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